So there I was, wandering down the road, whistling and thinking about Gipsys Acre. Id almost forgotten what Id been told when I saw a tall black-haired old woman staring at me over a garden hedge. I knew at once it must be Mrs Lee. I stopped and spoke to her.
I hear you can tell me about Gipsys Acre up there, I said.
She stared at me through a tangled fringe of black hair[5] and she said:
Dont have nought[6] to do with it, young man. You listen to me. Forget about it. Youre a good-looking lad. Nothing good comes out of Gipsys Acre and never will.
I see its up for sale, I said.
Aye, thats so, and more fool he who buys it.
Whos likely to buy it?
Theres a builder after it. More than one. Itll go cheap. Youll see.
Why should it go cheap? I asked curiously. Its a fine site.
She wouldnt answer that.
Supposing a builder buys it cheap, what will he do with it?
She chuckled to herself. It was malicious, unpleasant laughter.
Pull down the old ruined house and build, of course. Twenty thirty houses, maybe and all with a curse on them. I ignored the last part of the sentence. I said, speaking before I could stop myself:
That would be a shame. А great shame.
Ah, you neednt worry. Theyll get no joy of it, not those who buys and not those who lays the bricks and mortar. Therell be a foot that slips on the ladder, and therell be the lorry that crashes with a load, and the slate that falls from the roof of a house and finds its mark. And the trees too. Crashing, maybe, in a sudden gale. Ah, youll see! Theres none thatll get any good out of Gipsys Acre. Theyd do best to leave it alone. Youll see. Youll see. She nodded vigorously and then she repeated softly to herself, Theres no luck for them as meddles with Gipsys Acre. There never has been.
I laughed. She spoke sharply.
Dont laugh, young man. It comes to me as maybe one of these days youll laugh on the wrong side of your mouth. Theres never been no luck there, not in the house nor yet in the land.
What happened in the house? I asked. Why has it been empty so long? Why was it left to fall down?
The last people that lived there died, all of them.
How did they die? I asked out of curiosity.
Best not to speak of it again. But no one cared to come and live in it afterwards. It was left to moulder and decay. Its forgot by now and best that it should be.
But you could tell me the story, I said, wheedlingly. You know all about it.
I dont gossip about Gipsys Acre. Then she let her voice drop to a kind of phoney beggars whine. Ill tell your fortune now, my pretty lad, if you like. Cross my palm with silver and Ill tell your fortune. Youre one of those thatll go far one of these days.
I dont believe nonsense about fortune-telling, I said, and I havent any silver. Not to spare, anyway.
She came nearer to me and went on in a wheedling voice. Sixpence now. Sixpence now. Ill do it for sixpence. Whats that? Nothing at all. Ill do it for sixpence because youre a handsome lad with a ready tongue and a way with you. It could be that youll go far.
I fished a sixpence out of my pocket, not because I believed in any of her foolish superstitions but because for some reason I liked the old fraud even if I did see through her. She grabbed the coin from me, and said:
Give me your hand then. Both hands.
She took my hands in her withered claw and stared down at the open palms. She was silent for a minute or two, staring. Then she dropped my hands abruptly, almost pushing them away from her. She retreated a step and spoke harshly.
If you know whats good for you, youll get out of Gipsys Acre here and now and you wont come back! Thats the best advice I can give you. Dont come back.
Why not? Why shouldnt I come back?
Because if you do youll come back to sorrow and loss and danger maybe. Theres trouble, black trouble waiting for you. Forget you ever saw this place. Im warning you.
Well of all the
But she had turned away and was retreating to the cottage. She went in and slammed the door. Im not superstitious. I believe in luck, of course, who doesnt? But not a lot of superstitious nonsense about ruined houses with curses on them. And yet I had an uneasy feeling that the sinister old creature had seen something in my hands. I looked down at my two palms spread out in front of me. What could anyone see in the palms of anyones hands? Fortune-telling was arrant nonsense just a trick to get money out of you money out of your silly credulity. I looked up at the sky. The sun had gone in, the day seemed different now. А sort of shadow, a kind of menace. Just an approaching storm, I thought. The wind was beginning to blow, the backs of the leaves were showing on the trees. I whistled to keep my spirits up and walked along the road through the village.
I looked again at the pasted-up bill advertising the auction of The Towers. I even made a note of the date. I had never attended a property sale in my life but I thought to myself that Id come and attend this one. It would be interesting to see who bought The Towers. That is to say interesting to see who became the owner of Gipsys Acre. Yes, I think thats really where it all began А fantastic notion occurred to me. Id come and pretend to myself that I was the man who was going to bid for Gipsys Acre! Id bid against the local builders! Theyd drop out, disappointed in their hopes of buying it cheap. Id buy it and Id go to Rudolf Santonix and say, Build me a house. Ive bought the site for you. And Id find a girl, a wonderful girl, and wed live in it together happy ever after.
I often had dreams of that kind. Naturally they never came to anything but they were fun. Thats what I thought then. Fun! Fun, my God! If Id only known!
Chapter 2
It was pure chance that had brought me to the neighbourhood of Gipsys Acre that day. I was driving a hired car, taking some people down from London to attend a sale, a sale not of a house but its contents. It was a big house just at the outskirts of the town, a particularly ugly one. I drove an elderly couple there who were interested, from what I could overhear of their conversation, in a collection of papier mâché, whatever papier mâché was. The only time I ever heard it mentioned before was by my mother in connection with washing-up bowls. Shed said that a papier mâché washing-up bowl was far better than a plastic one any day! It seemed an odd thing for rich people to want to come down and buy a collection of the stuff.
However I stored the fact away in my mind and I thought I would look in a dictionary or read up somewhere what papier mâché really was. Something that people thought worthwhile to hire a car for, and go down to a country sale and bid for. I liked to know about things. I was twenty-two years of age at that time and I had picked up a fair amount of knowledge one way and another. I knew a good deal about cars, was a fair mechanic and a careful driver. Once Id worked with horses in Ireland. I nearly got entangled with a dope gang but I got wise and quit in time. А job as a chauffeur to a classy car hire firm isnt bad at all. Good money to be made with tips. And not usually too strenuous. But the work itself was boring.